Warriors: Red Storm Rise
by Saker-Grass
Summary: This is a warriors version fanfiction that I just felt the need to create. I will submit chapters whenever possible, but the beginning chapter is a PROLOGUE. The plot is a predator hunting the clans. Please enjoy! /Constructive/ criticism welcome!
1. Prologue

**Warriors: The predator**

**Book 1**: Red Storm Rise

**Prologue**:

The nursery lay devoid of life in some kind of horrified scene. Outside the den, stunned warriors crouched on the grass, some with eyes closed, others staring emptily in to space as though their world had just come to an end; and in some cases, it had. They all shared something in common. No one was moving, and it was as though time had stood still within the ThunderClan camp. No one knew what to say._ How could someone do this? _The thought was shared only by the few capable of thought. It wasn't right. _A warrior would never have done this,_ a single cat thought, head raised to stare desperately in to the brambles of the nursery. The small tom was one of the few stirring, his entire body shaking was guilt and sorrow as he slowly came to terms with the chaos that had descended upon them. _They are dead._ Although no one had the courage to speak out loud, the words were fresh in the minds of all of those crouched around the clearing. It was true, they knew. But how? No warrior, no, not even a rogue, would be capable of this.

He knew he was the medicine cat. He was supposed to make everything better. Others looked to him for guidance. But he had nothing to say, and the others knew that. He knew it too. And he hated himself for it.

_I'm their medicine cat! Why didn't I warn them? Why didn't _StarClan_ warn me?_ Anger flared through him now, the full force of his fury now released on his ancestors. They were supposed to _help_ the clans. But they just stood by and did nothing while queens and kits were slaughtered in their nests while they slept?

He wanted to snarl with fury, and felt the prickling on his back as his fur rose. _This is their fault!_ He knew it wasn't true. He knew he was the one who was supposed to understand the messages from StarClan and use them to help his clan. He had failed, hadn't he? But what message was there? He shook his head sadly, his fur slowly lying flat again as he tried to focus, his head nothing more than a whirl of thoughts and emotions. Could he truly hate his ancestors? He closed his eyes once more, breathing hard at the bile rising in his throat. This was only the beginning. StarClan hadn't warned him. _Ark_ had warned him. The mysterious tom had come only a few days before.

The silence was broken.

"Cloudfur!" Mudpelt cried. The dark brown tom had pushed his way forward, blundering in shock past his clan mates towards the nursery.

The tom stiffened, his tail shooting up, but could he bring himself to intercept the tom? He had lost the single most important cat to him. So had others, and for them, their kits had died too. Black fur barred the tom's way, and the medicine was relieved that Blackstar was their for the cat. Better the leader than himself.

He began to pad slowly forward, uncomfortably aware of the strong aroma of death and blood coming from the den. Just the night before the kits had been squealing and playing happily and the queens had been dreaming about what great warriors their kits would become. He struggled to swallow the grief that rose in his throat. It wasn't right. They were _kits_ for StarClan's sake! They had their entire lives ahead of them! What would killing harmless kits and a couple of happy queens do to help whomever had done this? _What_ever had done this. His pace became painfully slower and he was hardly away of the confrontation between his leader and Mudpelt. Normally he would step in to stop it; he didn't like cats fighting. But none of his former self seemed to be pulled together for this. Had his clan ever suffered such a traumatic loss before? No, who cared about the clan? A life was never worth that of a single place that others deemed to be special! They were just a band of cats, nothing more. And no life was worth a place.

His head found the entrance of the den. Strangely he was able to look and instantly a wave of revulsion so strong that he visible cringed, his legs almost buckling beneath him from the shock, washed over him. _Oh, StarClan, no!_

He backed away, unaware of a clan mate pushing up beside him, his head swimming with the words Ark had spoken. _The storm has risen_ he thought, and the horror of the scene scent him spinning in to darkness.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**:

"Brackenpaw, Whitepaw. Do you promise to uphold the warrior code, and to protect and defend your clan, even at the cost of your life?" The words rang clearly through the air as the ThunderClan leader addressed the excited apprentices. Brackenpaw stretched his muzzle up, the dark ringlets on his face gleaming clearly in the sunlight.

"I do." He meowed confidently.

"I do," Whitepaw repeated, not as confident, but her voice quavered in excitement.

"Then by the power of StarClan," the leader jumped down from the high rock, "I give you your warrior names. Brackenpaw, from this moment you will be known as Brackentail. StarClan honours your courage and respect and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan!" The leader touched his nose to the new warrior's forehead as Brackentail stretched his head forward to give his leader a respectful lick on the shoulder. The leader turned to Whitepaw. "Whitepaw, from this moment you will be known as Whitefoot. StarClan honours your kindness and your generosity and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan." The process was repeated, and a moment later Brackentail and Whitefoot stood together, brother and sister, looking around their clan mates with pride shining in their eyes.

The small tom crouching at the edge of the clearing couldn't have felt more jealous. As the others called their names, he tried to push aside his envy and cheer with his brother and sister, because he did feel proud of them for going all this way; but the dream of being a warrior was still burning inside the medicine cat, and his resentment towards his late father was stronger than ever. He remained uncertainly silent as his clan mates called his sibling's names, but when Brackentail's reproachful gaze me this own he felt guilty, and he raised his head and called out with his clan mates.

"Brackentail! Whitefoot!"

He was the medicine cat after all. He had chosen this path. He couldn't turn around and act like a prickly badger because he had chosen the path he had never wanted. It was his own fault, not his litter mates. It was his own, his mother's, and his father's fault for pushing him to this. He shook his head, his whiskers fluttering in the breeze and padded forward, forcing a smile on his face and for his eyes to twinkle with warmth towards the siblings that he barely knew.

"Congratulations Brackentail. You've earned this," he meowed, pushing his muzzle in to his brother's pelt. The small tom's muzzle barely scraped above Brackentail's chest, but he felt no jealousy their. His small size had proven to be helpful in many situations.

"Thanks, brother," Brackentail grinned back.

Turning to his sister, just barely taller than himself, he gave her a warm lick on the shoulder. "You've done well," he murmured gently. Despite his flaws, his gentle, level-headed nature was known throughout the clan. The tom rarely raised his voice in excitement, anger, or otherwise, and though his quiet mew may cause ears to strain, his clan mates were more than grateful for his soothing presence in many situations. After the ceremony his clan mates began to feast. The medicine cat lay a little ways from his siblings and their clan mates crowded around them, nibbling delicately on a squirrel's soft underbelly. Although part of him wanted to spend time with his clan mates, he just didn't know what to say, and so he kept his distance from them and picked up bits of their conversations as the night grew to an end. At the other side of the clearing the leader and deputy were eating, keeping a watchful eye out for their clan mates. He wished he could do the same. But he was not a good fighter, hardly able to defend himself. The most he could do was try and save his life, but even that would be a challenge. The only way he could help his clan was by tending to the sick and the elderly like some kind of useless kit, as though he was incapable of raising a claw against an enemy and driving them back.

He winced. Perhaps it wasn't so bad, he decided. He couldn't imagine being forced to harm another cat no matter what clan they were in. He had never a bad word to say about anyone, never had hate to show, because that wasn't his way. He had been raised to be a gentle and fair-hearted cat, flinching at an insult, sensitive over words, and his unusual kindness gave his clan a different point of view. Patience? He wasn't as patient as he acted. Inside he couldn't stand waiting for others. He was always waiting, wasn't he?

A gentle voice broke him from his troubled thoughts, and he looked up and was surprised to see his mother standing over him. He felt mildly annoyed, but on the other hand, grateful.

"What are you doing all alone? Don't you want to be with your clan mates?" She sounded worried. He suppressed a sigh. She was always fussing about him. Didn't she trust him to take care of himself? Didn't she trust him to know what he was doing?

"I'm fine, mother. They just want to be with their clan mates, not with me. I'm not much of a conversationalist, anyways. And they probably have warrior-issues to talk about," he offered the excuse. Could he tell her that she was jealous of their warrior lives? He could, but he didn't want to worry her more.

"You're their brother. You should be with them," she murmured kindly. "You should never feel as though you're not good enough to be with someone; especially your family," she lay down beside him, and he couldn't deny how comforted he felt with her warm fur brushing against him and he tongue washing over his ears. Part of him longed to be a kit again when everything was so simple and there was no "bad choices". He longed to live a simple life where every day was just another chance to play; not a threat to die or watch your clan mates die around you. But he couldn't. He had to help his clan mates and there was no time for second guessing.

"No, I'm tired," he stood up, not wanting to, but forcing himself. "I'm going to bed, mother. It was good to see you," he touched his nose to his ear. He was about to walk away when a thought occurred to him. She looked very sad. Perhaps she missed his father more than she was letting on. He knew how important his father had been to her, and how much they had shared. He tried to imagine loosing her, or someone so close that they had spent almost every day together, having fun, sometimes fighting, but for the most part, being together. He didn't like the terrible pain he felt tugging at his chest. For a moment he couldn't bring himself to speak or breath. _I know what to say,_ he told himself, trying to bring out that surge of confidence that he rarely had.

"It'll be okay, mother. Everything will be alright in the end. I'll be with you, and all my clan mates; in their hearts and minds and through the leaves and streams. Just as everyone is. We're all family. We can never truly be apart," he murmured, remembering his mentor's wisdom in his own words. _But that's not true, is it? We're all capable of hurting each other, and we will hurt each other because we can. It doesn't matter that we're all the same, that we're all just cats. They will hate each other for the rest of their lives. Everyone will_ he thought. He did not voice his misgivings aloud, though, and began to pad solemnly away, a heaviness in his step that he hadn't noticed before. As he distances several fox-lengths between himself and his mother he heard her voice once more.

"Good night, Roanfur, my dear son." His heart swelled with pride to hear her call him dear. He was dear to her, wasn't he? He felt those feelings of love again, and he raised his tail to signal that he heard her, and to signal his own happiness. As he pushed his way in to the medicine den, although it was empty, he knew he wasn't completely alone. His nest was welcoming to him, and he preferred the warmth of his very den to the chill of the frightening world outside. He welcomed sleep like an old friend, if only he could keep his nightmares of monsters and death at bay. As he fell asleep, in his dreams, StarClan was waiting for him.


End file.
